What strange news is this of Mr. Pitt's leaving the ministry? I am glad of it, though I suppose the men that succeed will persist in the same measures. But a schism in the cabinet bodes ill for the permanence of the party; so that I hope the present change is only a prelude to one more important. The present ministry can surely never be permanent. We must have peace, or we are inevitably and speedily ruined. But I hate politics, and have not read a paper above twice these nine months; so that you must not suppose I am very profound on these subjects.

You have heard, no doubt, of the death of poor Mr. He departed this life, Monday se'nnight, at

of

He was at dinner

at Mr. - -'s, and was taken with a second apoplectic fit between the two courses, and expired in about two hours. He never spake, except the moment after he was seized; when, in answer to Mrs.

-'s inquiry, he said he was poorly. Poor man! he had very little happiness in life, and his last years were very unhappy. No spirits, no exertion, no usefulness! I sometimes think it is a mercy I was not a "gentleman parson;" for with my natural indolence, the temptations of that character would have completed my ruin. "Let us work, my dear friend, while it is called to-day."

Pray, have you heard any more about the design of the government to suppress village preaching and Sunday-schools? Our friends at Clapham were very apprehensive of it some time since, but we hear little of it in the country. Mr. Simeon informed me lately he had little doubt something of the sort would be attempted. He gave some intimation of the same kind in a sermon he preached to his own people. Pray inform me of all you have heard about it, for it is an affair which lies with considerable weight on my mind. If there should be any thing done, we shall see dismal times. Do you know whether any thing has been written on the subject? Mr. Simeon and I are upon very friendly terms. I lately dined with him at his own rooms, and have repeatedly met him in company, in which the conversation has been very agreeable. The reconciliation was effected principally by the intervention of Mr. Owen, of Fulham, and of Alderman Ind. A paper was drawn up, and signed by each party. We are upon very comfortable terms with the church people at present; never was less party spirit at Cambridge. I wish I could see more good done, but yet I must not complain. Our congregation is very flourishing, and things wear an agreeable aspect. But my paper admonishes me to close. Pray write to me very soon, if not immediately, and let us see you at Cambridge as early as possible. Remember me respectfully to Mr. Thompson, Miss Wilkinson, Mr. Beddome, &c.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours constantly,

ROBERT HALL,

VIII.

TO THE REV. JAMES PHILLIPS.

My dear Friend, Cambridge, May 26, 1801. I thank you for your very kind letter, and for your invitation to pay you an early visit at Clapham. You know, and every one who knows me knows, there is no friend living whom I should be so glad to see as yourself, but am afraid it will not be in my power to gratify this inclination at present. I am just going to see my old friend Kinghorn at Norwich, where I shall be absent one, possibly two, Sabbaths. In the fall of the year I am engaged to visit Bristol, and to go as far as Plymouth; so that I am afraid it will not be in my power to pay my London and Clapham friends a visit this summer. I shall fully expect, however, to see you at Cambridge some time in the summer. It is long since you were here; and we are anxiously desirous of seeing you, with Mrs. Phillips, to whom I beg to be affectionately remembered. It gives me extreme pleasure to hear of your great acceptance at Clapham. Miss Wilkinson spoke in raptures of you to Mrs. Gutteridge. The distinguished respect the people have shown you does them much more honour than it can do you. You are intimate, I find, with Mr. Beddome's family. They are, indeed, a lovely family, truly friendly, liberal, and intelligent: there is no house where I spend my time more agreeably in London or the environs. The parcel you sent me consists of a very polite letter from Mr. Roberts, enclosing a copy of verses, elegant, and truly and strictly poetical, that is, replete with fiction, containing praises which my heart compels me to disclaim with a sigh! O my friend, what an infinity of time I have lost, and how ardently do I long to do something which shall convince the world I have not lived in vain! My wishes, in this respect, will, it is to be feared, never be fulfilled. Tranquillity is not my lot. The prey, in early life, of passion and calamity, I am now perfectly devoured with an impatience to redeem time, and to be of some lasting benefit to the world, at least to the church. But this inter nos.

You wish me to answer Bishop Horsley. You have seen, probably, Rowland Hill's sermon. I should be little disposed to answer Horsley, or any individual. Were any thing to be done, it should, in my opinion, enter into the whole matter, containing an ample defence of the liberty of worship, and of the specific efforts of Methodists and dissenters in instructing and evangelizing mankind.* I, some time since, put down some thoughts on this subject; but whether I shall proceed will depend on the conduct of the government; as a laboured defence would be,

* See the Fragments on Toleration, &c. in Vol. II.—ED.

probably, impolitic, without a projected attack. Pray come soon to see us. My respects to Mr. Thompson, Miss Wilkinson, Beddomes, Petries, and other friends, as if named.

TO MRS. TUCKER, PLYMOUTH DOCK.

Dear Madam, Cambridge, Feb. 18, 1802. I know not what apology to make for having so long neglected to fulfil my part of the mutual promise of correspondence. Impute it to any thing rather than indifference; for I can assure you, with the utmost sincerity, that your kindness to me while I had the happiness of being under your roof left an impression on my mind of gratitude and esteem which no time can efface. It is doing no sort of justice to my feelings to say that it exceeded any thing of the kind I ever experienced in my life; and heightens the regret I feel at the probability of few opportunities of personal intercourse with a friend who has so great a claim to my regard, and in whose welfare I shall always feel myself so deeply interested. When I look back on my past days (alas! why should I ever look back), the few I spent at Plymouth Dock appear like a bright spot in a dreary prospect. Though my friends at Bristol were disposed to be displeased at my staying so long in Devon. shire, I shall never repent of it, since it afforded me an opportunity of renewing and cementing a virtuous friendship-the only kind of friendship that will flourish to eternal ages. Yes, madam, I hope to renew with you the remembrance of my visit to Dock, and of your kindness, before the Throne where distance will no more interrupt the intercourse of kindred minds. What a happiness to reflect, though separated here, we are advancing every step nearer to the place of meeting; and in the mean time we are mingling our addresses at the same mercy-seat, imbibing pleasure at the same spring, and deposing our anxieties in the same compassionate bosom. There is a divine reality in the communion of saints, which I pray we may more and more experience.

I have just been reading Dr. Whitehead's Life of Mr. Wesley: it has given me a much more enlarged idea of the virtues and labours of that extraordinary man than I ever had before. I would not incur the guilt of that virulent abuse which Toplady cast upon him, for points merely speculative and of very little importance, for ten thousand worlds. When will the Christian world cease disputing about religion, and begin to enter into its spirit, and practise its precepts? I am attempting to write a vindication of village preaching and of Sundayschools, but when it will be out I do not know; I endeavour an do a little at it every day, but am a slow hand.

From several quarters I am given to understand my preaching at Plymouth and Dock gave general dissatisfaction. This intelligence gives me no particular concern, being conscious of my upright intentions; but if it arose in any degree from the practical complexion of my addresses I am sorry, as it indicates a tincture of that antinomian spirit which threatens to deluge the church.

Dear Madam,

TO MRS. TUCKER.

Shelford, Feb. 14, 1804. In truth I had almost despaired of the honour of ever hearing from you any more: it was therefore no small gratification to me to be indulged once more with a sight of your handwriting. I sincerely sympathize with you, my amiable friend, in the heavy loss you have sustained, in being deprived of so excellent a father, who must have been endeared to you in no ordinary degree, not only by the ties of nature, but by the peculiar tenderness and affection he ever displayed through an intimate and almost uninterrupted intercourse of a long series of years. I know by experience the pang which the loss of an affectionate parent produces, though under circumstances which possibly might render the blow somewhat less severe than that which you sustain. For many years previous to the death of my most excellent father, my situation had permitted me but little opportunity of intercourse, which, though it did not in the least impair my esteem or reverence, probably diminished that tenderness and vehemence of attachment which virtuous children never fail to feel towards the deserving parents with whom they reside. Allowing, however, for this difference, I well know the desolating, the withering sensation which pervades the heart on the loss of an affectionate father. We feel, with a conviction as instantaneous as lightning, that the loss is irreparable,—that the void can never be supplied, and that, however many amiable and excellent friends we may have left, there is none who will so naturally care for our souls. I can most easily conceive, therefore, and most tenderly sympathize with, the sorrow which so great a blow must inflict on so tender a heart. The aids of reason and religion may inspire resignation; but nothing but the torrent of time will wear away the traces of sorrow, and leave in the heart a tender and not an afflicting remembrance. It is needless, to a mind so vigorous as yours, to recall to your remembrance the many sources of gratitude which remain in the midst of your affliction, and the great alleviations which accompany it.

You will reflect, I am persuaded, with gratitude, on the great number of years your dear father was spared to you; you will remember the moral impossibility of his continuing to enjoy, at so advanced [an age,] many additional years of happiness on earth; and, what will afford you the truest consolation, you will follow him within the veil, and contemplate him resting from his labours, and sitting down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of God. How infinitely indebted, my amiable friend, are we to that gospel which gives us everlasting consolation, and a good hope through grace! May He who alone has immediate access to the heart calm every agitation, and solace every disquietude of your breast! My excellent friend will not, I am persuaded, abandon herself to immoderate sorrow. I trust, at least, you will be extremely upon your guard against indulging that luxury of grief, as it has been termed, which, however congenial to the extreme sensibility of your temper, would disqualify you alike for happiness and duty. Your domestic station will, happily for you, afford that occupation and diversion to your thoughts which will have a powerful tendency to moderate the excesses of grief.

I am, dear Madam,

Yours most sincerely and respectfully,

XI.

ROBERT HALL.

TO MR. HEWITT FYSH, CAMBERWELL,

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. FYSH.

My dear Friend, Shelford, March 11, 1804. I deeply sympathize with you in the great loss you have sustained by the decease of your most excellent wife. It is a stroke which will be long felt by all her surviving friends; how much more by a person with whom she was so long and so happily united! There are many considerations, however, which must occur to your mind, in alleviation of your distress. The dear deceased had long been rendered incapable by the severity of her affliction of enjoying life; and a further extension of it would have been but a prolongation of wo. Much as her friends must regret her loss, to have been eagerly solicitous for her continuance here would have been a refined selfishness, rather than true friendship. She was spared for the kindest purposes; to exemplify the power of religion in producing a cheerful resignation to the will of God, through a long series of suffering, to a degree which I never saw equalled in any other instance. There was the faith and patience of the saints. Her graces were most severely tried, and surely never did any shine brighter. The most active and zealous services in religion could not have yielded more glory to God than the dignified